


Lessons Learnt

by in_a_blog_in_the_ground



Series: One-Shots [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brother Feels, Gen, Kid!Fic, bit of fighting, nothing too serious though, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_blog_in_the_ground/pseuds/in_a_blog_in_the_ground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Bofur1</p><p>“Maybe Balin doesn't want anyone to know that he's being bulled somewhere (school? office? market?). Then Dwalin and Thorin find out and are really ticked off and even though they're much younger, they take care of it way better than he could a.k.a: fight!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons Learnt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/gifts).



“Thorin. There’s somethin’ wrong.”

“What’s the matter, Dwalin?” Thorin said, trying to hide his surprise at his best friend’s sudden appearance at his window.

“Balin’s been comin’ home late. Sometimes he has bruises. Only las’ nigh’ Ah saw him limpin’. It’s not cos the guard trainin’ either; Father says none of the recruits this year ken even touch him, much less make him limp. An’ he won’ tell me why. Somethin’s wrong, Thorin.”

All Thorin could see of his friend were his worried eyes peeking over his fingers as he held himself up to the sill.

“That does indeed sound strange. Er, do you want to come in?”

Thorin moved a chair under his window for Dwalin to step down onto as his face momentarily disappeared and the sounds of his feet scraping the wall as he clambered up could be heard.

Dwalin finally dropped into the room and sat, arms crossed, heavy brows furrowed as he chewed the inside of his lip.

“We hafta follow him.”

“Er, right,” Thorin was always a bit taken by surprise at his friend’s impromptu planning methods, but they had often proven effective in the past, so he just nodded resolutely and went along. “Right. Where is he now? At the Academy?”

“Aye. They get out at sundown. Meet me across the street under the grocer’s green awning then.”

And with that, Dwalin was gone, back out the window.

Thorin shook his head lightly, and turned back to finish his day’s studies before the night’s falling. He wondered briefly why Dwalin did not simply use the front door –it was not as if Thrain minded the Captain of the Guard’s young son visiting Thorin; to the contrary, Fundin was a distant cousin and a close friend to the family himself-, but soon came to the conclusion that Dwalin most likely had skipped out on his own studies and wanted to avoid detection by the adults. Chuckling, he set back to doing his sums, but his mind kept going back to what Dwalin had told him. Who could be setting on Balin? The elder son of Fundin was one of the kindest dwarves Thorin knew, and he held him in some awe, as young boys often looked up to older brothers. Indeed, Balin and Dwalin were as close to being his siblings as his own little Frerin and Dis were. His eyes narrowed in anger. They would find out who was hurting Balin. And they would make them pay.

-

Flipping his cloak’s hood over his head, Thorin hurried down the street to meet Dwalin across from the low stone building where recruits went to train to be guardsmen for New Belegost, under the supervision of Fundin. His friend was already there, hood drawn over his distinctive mohawk.

“Finally,” Dwalin said by way of greeting, “they’re almost out, Ah just heard the final horn.”

Sure enough, recruits started trickling out in twos and threes. Some were limping, but shrugging off their wounds; merits of honor earned during the day’s training.

“There he is,” Dwalin hissed, “turn ‘round.”

The two young dwarves inspected the grocer’s closed door as nonchalantly as they could while still keeping an eye on Balin’s location.

After waving farewell to some mates, Balin glanced cautiously around and paused before a split in the streets, finally deciding to take the left-hand path. Dwalin and Thorin looked curiously at each other. The right-hand path would have been the shorter way home. Silently, they followed.

They trailed Dwalin’s older brother as he led them on a circuitous route through the town, occasionally seeming to make split-second decisions on which roads to take. Thorin and Dwalin were baffled, and sometimes hard-pressed to keep up while staying out of sight.

When they were within a mile or so of Fundin’s home, they saw Balin pause and stiffen. Dwalin shot out a hand and pulled Thorin back behind some boxes to see what would happen next.

“Baaaalin. Where’re ye goin’ te this late hour, Balin?” An unpleasant, nasal voice came out of a darkened alley to the side of the street.

Balin sighed. “Gror. This again?”

“Got sumffin’ else ye’d rather be doin’?” Gror stepped out of the shadows, followed by four other swarthy dwarves, all about Balin’s age.

“Wait. Ah know him,” Dwalin whispered, peering at Gror. “He got booted from the Academy last month fer almost killin’ another guard. He wouldn’t leave, so Balin had tae force him out. That’s how he got the nose.” Gror’s nasal voice was evidently caused by some side-effect of having your nose plastered over your face, as his was.

“Shockingly, yes,” Balin said in an exasperated tone.

“I’m hurt,” Gror growled sarcastically, coming forward and shoving Balin hard, sending him to the ground. The other dwarves moved forward as well, raising fists with ugly expressions on their faces.

“Stop!” Thorin said commandingly, as he had seen his father do. He came out from behind the boxes and stood fast in the middle of the street, illuminated by a hanging lamp.

Balin’s eyes opened wide at suddenly seeing Thorin, and opened wider still when Dwalin stepped out to stand beside him.

“Oo’s th’ brats?” One of the gang grunted.

“He is Thorin, Son of Thrain, an’ ye’d best heed his words!” Dwalin called, furious but keeping himself in check.

“This skinny lit’le twerp is the Prince? Not bloody likely. Get ‘im, lads.” Gror led the way as the gang rushed the two younger dwarves.

They were shocked as, instead of turning tail, Dwalin and Thorin met them halfway, roaring and eager to mete justice to those that would torment one they loved. One of the gang was immediately knocked flat as Dwalin ducked his head and barreled into his midsection, punching the wind from him. Falling, he tripped another coming up behind. Thorin bobbed and weaved his way around another dwarf, jabbing with hard fists at soft sides. But brave and skilled as they were, Thorin and Dwalin were smaller than the older dwarves, and less experienced, for they were actually all dropouts from the Academy, kicked out for one reason or another. Gror came up behind the young prince while he was distracted with the dwarf in front of him, and grabbed him in a chokehold. Dwalin immediately turned to help his friend, but was dropped by a vicious hook to the jaw, followed by a kick to the gut. Thorin kicked and tried to get out, but Gror’s grip only tightened and tightened until Thorin’s vision started to darken around the edges.

Suddenly he was on the ground, coughing and clutching his throat. As soon as he could, he crawled towards Dwalin, who was groaning and holding his side.

“Dwalin! Dwalin, are you alright?” Thorin croaked out, reaching for his friend.

“A-aye, Ah think so. Mah ribs feel…wrong,” Dwalin said through gritted teeth, eyes closed against the pain.

“Jus’, just lie still now, I’ll get help…” Thorin’s voice trailed away as he became aware of what was going on around them.

Two dwarves were already on the ground, moaning and trying to haul themselves away. On the other side of the street, Balin had Gror by the throat and was fending off the other two members of the gang. With one arm, he seized one by the shirtfront and twisted, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the boxes Thorin and Dwalin had previously hid behind. The last decided he’d had enough and tried to get away, but Balin grabbed him by the arm and spun using his own momentum, sending him face first into a wall. Dazed, he stumbled off it, but a boot to the chest put him down for good. Thorin recognized him as the dwarf who had kicked Dwalin while he was on the ground.

The lackeys taken care of, Balin turned his full attention to Gror, who was cringing and whimpering in his grasp. Snarling, his kindly face contorted almost unrecognizably by rage, Balin hauled the terrified bully up ‘til they were nose to ruined nose.

“Now. Listen carefully, you petty, cowardly little bastard.

“This is Thorin, Son of Thrain, your future King, and Ah would not be stopped from killing you all right now for threatening him if Ah saw fit.

“This is Dwalin, Son of Fundin. My brother. He will be the greatest warrior since Durin himself that Middle Earth has ever seen, so you best make your reparations to him now while he’s still in a forgiving mood.”

Balin shoved Gror’s head in the general direction of Dwalin, still kneeling in the street with Thorin’s arm supportively around him, and waited while Gror slurred out an apology through tears and broken teeth before dragging him back.

“So. Gror. Son of Mort. If ye lay a hand to either of these boys ever again, so long as Ah live, Ah will murder you in a hideous way. Are. We. Clear.”

Sneering contemptuously, he dropped the cowering dwarf and turned on his heel towards the boys before waiting to hear Gror’s answer.

Spitting blood through his broken mouth, Gror struggled to crawl away fast enough. The rest of the street was already empty of his gang, who made their escapes as soon as they were able.

Thorin and Dwalin trembled slightly at Balin’s approach. Suddenly he didn’t seem as benign as he always had in the past, but he fell to his knees before them, eyes filled with the same kindness and concern as they had always known.

“Dwalin, Thorin, oh what are ye doin’ here? Are ye alrigh’, ken ye walk?”

“Y-yes, I think so,” Thorin was trying to help Dwalin stand, but straightening up seemed too painful for him.

“Dwalin, wait! Here, let me, Thorin, Ah think his ribs may be broken.” Carefully, Balin lifted up his brother and cradled him in his arms. Relaxing, Dwalin mercifully passed out.

As they walked back to Fundin’s, Thorin explained to Balin what they were doing following him.

“Ah. Oh Dwalin, he shouldnae have worried so. Ah was never in any danger.”

“But why didn’t you ever fight back? Why didn’t you just thrash them the first time?” Thorin asked, confused and angry.

“Ah suppose…they felt they were wronged, and sometimes it is best tae just let tempers work themselves out. None of them are suited tae be guards, this is true, but if they’re coming after me, it means they are staying out of trouble elsewhere. Ah knew Ah could handle them if need be, so Ah felt there was no harm in letting them…vent, as it were. Ah was actually wondering where we might be able tae utilize them before this. Though loutish, they were not without some skill and strength.

“But after they went after you two…” Balin’s face darkened terribly, and he shook his head, “Ah wanted tae…”

Balin stopped and looked down at the wide-eyed face of the prince. “Thorin, if anythin’ happened tae either of you and Ah wasn’t there tae stop it, Ah don’ know what Ah would do wit’ mahself. It was brave of ye tae want tae find out what was goin’ on, but a King must learn restraint, and discretion. Pick yer battles, my Prince. Don’t throw yerself intae fights ye cannae win.”

Thorin nodded gravely, and they continued on to the house of Fundin, windows lit against the press of night.

**Author's Note:**

> Balin's accent gets thicker when he's more emotional apparently. Sorry if it was hard to read :P


End file.
